Beneath A Moonless Sky
by legend-of-stelena
Summary: The events that transpired between Christine and her Angel of Music that night beneath the moonless sky. Oneshot.


**This fic is basically a look back on Erik's life before, during and after the events of Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Phantom of the Opera_. Although this is based on the ALW musical and my interpretation of Erik's past, there are a few elements of Susan Kay's _Phantom_ implemented here too that I fairly enjoyed.  
** **Enjoy!  
** **A/N: This story will go between Erik's past and Christine's present (like the movie...kinda)**

 _ **Prompt 6: Flame (Erik and Christine, pre-Love Never Dies)**_

* * *

The Swedish soprano rushed through the empty, scarcely lit streets of Calais in the dead of night, clutching her black cloak around herself.  
She wasn't at all surprised that he had chosen one of the most abandoned areas in all of France to hide, but knowing this didn't assist her in her search for him. In fact, it had been rather difficult to track down her reclusive former music teacher. It took weeks alone to simply find Madame Giry and a few more days to even find an excuse to leave the Chagny estate in Paris to speak to her.  
On her way to meet with the estranged ballet instructor of the once shining Paris Opera House, Christine Daaé asked herself why she spent all this time searching for the eldest Giry. It wasn't until Christine stood in front of the new Giry household that she realized why.  
She was looking for _him.  
_ _  
When the older woman opened the door and let her in, Christine forced herself into the customary small talk and mindless banter. However Madame Giry, who had once treated Christine as her own flesh and blood, had none of it.  
_ _"I can easily assume why you are here, Miss Daaé. Enough pleasantries," she had said. "You wish to find_ him _, don't you?"  
_ _Christine had only looked down at her lap. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding.  
_ _Madame Giry scoffed. "I knew it." She sighed. "Miss Daaé_ — _Christine_ — _one of the reasons I agreed to this meeting was because I have a message from him. A message for you, in fact."  
_ _Christine's spine stiffened. He had a message for her, the mere thought of it forcing her heart to pound in anticipation for good news and fear if it wasn't. She tried her hardest to avoid appearing overly eager.  
_ _"What is it?" she questioned nervously.  
_ _Madame Giry regained her professional composure and sat straighter. "You see, Meg and I are leaving France shortly to go to America. He is set to travel with us, however, he wishes to see you one final time. He is staying at 86 rue Jessamine on the outskirts of Calais, should you decide to see him. We leave in two weeks time, on the 18th. The day of your wedding to the Vicomte de Chagny, if all the gossip is correct," she added.  
_ _Christine worried her bottom lip. "It is."  
_ _The older woman's eyebrows rose briefly before she simply nodded and said, "Choose wisely, my dear."  
_ _The young girl remained silent and moved to get up. "I should get going before Raoul sends for me." The two women headed towards the front door.  
_ _Just as Christine was about to set off, Madame Giry grabbed her arm. "His real name is Erik," the French woman explained. "And please, Christine...do not hurt him more than you already have."_

* * *

 _There had never been much beauty in Erik's life._  
 _He had never known his mother's embrace or her gentle gaze. Whenever she had looked at him with her piercing blue eyes, they had been full of disappointment and anger at herself and him. He had no memories of her soothing and calming voice singing a lullaby to put him to sleep at night. No, she had hated him, was disgusted by the mere sight of him; so much so that she was happier pretending her real child was a shepherd statue instead of him. All he truly remembered was her look of pity and sigh of relief when he had been sold to the gypsies' traveling circus to be a freak._  
 _The circus hadn't shown him much beauty either; only oddities and other supposed monsters like him. There, he had learned how to be rude, violent and hostile through all the abuse he was shown, both physically and mentally, by the gypsy in charge of him._  
 _The closest thing to beauty was a song sung by a gypsy woman with a too-rough voice. Despite her harsh tongue, the words she sang spoke to him._

 _ **Never dreamed out in the world,  
There are arms to hold you.  
You've always known  
Your heart was on its own.**_

 **So laugh in your loneliness,**  
 **Child of the wilderness**  
 **Learn to be lonely;**  
 **Life can be lived, life can be loved,  
** _ **Alone.**_

 _The song, despite not being too long or directed towards him, was the closest thing to a lullaby he had ever known. As the tune began getting stuck in his head, he added his own lyrics._

 _ **Child of the wilderness, born into emptiness  
Learn to be lonely  
Learn to find your way in darkness.**_

 _ **Who will be there for you?**_  
 _ **Comfort and care for you?**_  
 _ **Learn to be lonely**_  
 _ **Learn to be your one companion.**_

 _Erik would sing it to himself on his darkest nights when the abuse and torment were at their worst. It was the first song he had (in a way) written at the age of ten. As he turned older, he had finally gotten the chance to escape the dreadful circus but by then, the damage had already been done. The torture of the last few years had taken its toll on his mind and soul. His moods changed more often and grew in their intensity, making one of his first reactions in most situations to hurt._  
 _His escape wouldn't have been possible though without the help of the young ballerina and future ballet teacher of the Opéra Populaire. She had given him a secret home underneath the opera house where he could experience the greatest songs and symphonies first hand.  
Over time, she had snuck him fine fabrics for his clothing, papers and numerous supplies for artwork, ink for every kind of writing and other little things to keep him entertained as the years crawled by. He fairly enjoyed doing them as well._  
 _When he was privileged enough to see some of the shows performed onstage via the secret doors and unused booths, he would sketch the costumes in drawings that turned out quite well, much to Madame Giry, the now aging ballerina's, surprise._  
 _While he spent time with all the things Madame Giry brought for him, his favourite thing was the organ that had been brought down only God knew how. Erik could spend days sitting in front of the organ playing it. As he taught himself the various chords and keys, he vigorously studied every spare music sheet that came his way. Eventually, he began making sense of the lines and symbols and notes that adorned the pages, and started copying the songs that played above him on the great stage and he imitated the Arias that swelled up in the operas. Slowly, he became better and better until one day, he sat at the organ and played things that were never heard before. It had gotten to the point that Madame Giry believed that Erik had surpassed the composers he had once emulated._

 _Time passed and he received his first proper mask to hide his deformity: a pure white one that covered half of his face. As this occurred, he began itching to teach the world above of the music he created in his darkness. Thus, he began taking the opera house as his own.  
It had originated simply enough_— _only a few tricks here and there to make his presence known. It was only when people regularly referred to him as the Opera Ghost (or better yet, the Phantom of the Opera), that he started asking the managers for money and favours. Through this, he earned 20,000 francs a month and Box Five for his personal use at every performance._  
 _All the while, he worked on his own opera,_ Don Juan Triumphant _, his magnum opus that he would never allow to see the light of day._

* * *

 _"His real name is Erik. And please, Christine...do not hurt him more than you already have."_  
Madame Giry's words had stuck in Christine's mind for the next week and few days, haunting her as she pondered on the choice she had to make.  
How she yearned to see him one final time before he left her forever! Yet how afraid she was that he would hate her. But if he hated her, he never would have asked to see her. Or would he? Her Phantom—Erik—could be terribly strange in that way!  
She struggled to make a decision through her dozen fittings, meaningless tea parties, and the other dreadfully boring social events she was dragged to. Oh God, she would have to do this forever as the Vicomtesse de Chagny!  
However, it wasn't that thought that brought her to 86 rue Jessamine the night before her wedding day. The women she had no choice but to chat with were all at home tending to their husbands while she roamed the dark streets of Calais in the dead of night. If they could only see her now.  
After all the time Christine spent trying to convince herself that she could live the rest of her life without ever seeing Erik again, she had finally given up trying to think she could even go another day without him.

She was done pretending.

* * *

Erik's entire life changed one cold, winter night.  
He had been taking a walk through the secret passages of the opera house when he heard a tiny voice singing to the Angel of Music in the makeshift chapel. He had become immediately intrigued at the sound of the popular figure in Swedish folklore whom he had heard of during his brief time in Sweden long ago.  
She reappeared at the chapel every few nights, prayed to her father, then sang to the Angel. Erik had observed that she sounded completely fine when she was alone in the chapel but when she sang around others, her voice was a tad screechy at best.  
However, Erik had become seemingly infatuated with the young voice he heard through the cracks in the walls. So much so that one night, without properly thinking it through, he sang back to the girl; an interaction he had never forgotten.

 _The girl gasped loudly at the sound of his voice. "Are you my Angel of Music? Oh, have you finally come to me?"  
_ _Erik froze, unsure of how to respond. There was no denying that he wasn't an Angel by any means, but the girl sounded so...happy. Relieved almost. As strange as it was, he didn't want to let her down.  
_ _"I_ — _yes," Erik replied.  
_ _Another gasp came from the room. "I just knew you would come to me one day! The other girls thought I was ridiculous for believing in you, but I just knew you were real, even when they made fun of me for thinking it."  
_ _A small pang hit Erik, giving him feelings he didn't even think he had anymore. He recalled when he himself was the subject of much ridicule; ridicules that made this girl's worries pale in comparison.  
"Do not worry, for your Angel of Music has arrived. Now, why don't you begin from the start of the song?" he coolly answered.  
"Yes, Angel!" She cleared her throat. "Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?'"_

 ** _"No, what I love best," Lotte said.  
"Is when I'm asleep in my bed,  
And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."_**  
 ** _The Angel of Music sings songs in my head..._** _  
_ _  
They had continued that way until morning and it was time for the girl to go. Before she had departed, he offered to tutor her against his better judgment, much to her excitement. She had clapped her hands together and made him promise to meet her in the chapel once more the following evening.  
_ _Then she left.  
_ _When Erik returned the next night, the girl was already there waiting for him._

Erik gave a bittersweet smile at his first meeting with the magnetic Christine Daaé: the very woman who had changed his life for better or for worse. Through his teaching, she had become the confident soprano he could never have guessed she'd become. When he had her sing various arias that were performed on stage, she sounded much better than the singers that the audience actually heard.  
Although she could never see him, he watched her go from a shy, mousy teenage girl into a harmonious, mature and beautiful young woman. He was quite content with working on _Don Juan Triumphant_ by day and tutoring Christine at night.  
Until one day, that life was lost forever.

 _Perhaps it was his fault_ — _no it was his fault_ — _that things spiraled out of control.  
Due to his backstage shenanigans, the leading soprano, Carlotta (whom everyone praised because her shrill voice had made everyone's ears deaf enough to), stormed away from the rehearsal for_Hannibal _on the eve it was to be performed with no understudy to replace her. Madame Giry (bless that woman!) proceeded to recommend Christine for the role. She sang for the managers and that very evening, she performed onstage in front of hundreds with her pure voice and gave the show of the century. The audience, the critics...they all loved her!_  
 _Her tremendous success was what made Erik decide to finally take her down to his lair and allow her to see him (with the mask on, of course). He waited by the two-sided mirror in her dressing room and right as he was about to make his presence known, another man entered the room. He spoke nonsense of a red scarf as he called her Little Lotte, obviously referring to the first song Erik had ever heard her sing._  
 _The man was Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, the opera house's new patron. To make matters worse, the Vicomte had shared his childhood with Christine. How Erik loathed the idea of them possibly being childhood sweethearts!_  
 _The Vicomte soon left, allowing Erik to make himself known. He proceeded to take Christine down to his lair and everything went well until he showed her the wedding dress he had ready for her. She had fainted and when she had finally awoken, she had gone straight to him (him!) as he was working on_ Don Juan _. She caressed and touched his face, but when she had taken off his mask, rage blinded his thoughts. The action, while gentle in nature, stirred memories within him from his time with the gypsies. In a brief flash, he had seen his former master forcing the pathetic burlap sack off his head and beating him for the public's entertainment._  
 _Erik fumed at her and oh God, she had seemed so afraid of him. Yet despite the fear, she did the one thing the gypsies never did: she returned the mask as quickly as she had taken it away. Ashamed of himself and his outburst, he returned her to the world above, but not without asking the managers to have her play the lead in the upcoming performance of_ Il Muto _. However, the foolish managers put Carlotta onstage instead, daring to defy Erik's wishes. In revenge, he had embarrassed Carlotta offstage and killed a lowly stagehand._  
 _Just as Christine was about to take the stage, though, she disappeared to the rooftop with the Vicomte. There they...they...confessed their love for one another. They promised to protect each other and admitted how deep their love ran. Their proclamations stung his mind, hurt his soul and crushed his heart more than he ever could have imagined. Christine, his dear Angel of Music, did not want him; did not love him. Even after everything, she did not care for him, but for her childhood lover._  
 _Oh, God, why?_  
 _Why had he been tortured that way, with that kind, spirited, talented young girl he could never have? Why...she had dropped his rose as though it meant nothing to her! He had given her both his heart and his music; he had made her song take wing and in return, she denied him. But how could he blame that Raoul de Chagny for also falling in love with the ethereal Christine Daaé?_  
 _  
During that period of sorrow, his presence had vanished from the outside world. Instead of 'haunting' the theater, tutoring Christine or sending notes to whomever it may have concerned, he poured himself into_ Don Juan _until it was finally finished. It had only been at the finished stage where he realized how much he yearned to see Christine as his Aminta with him accompanying her as Don Juan_ — _not that the managers or the Vicomte would ever allow him to share the stage with her._  
 _It didn't matter...he had his ways._  
 _On the night of the opera house's masquerade ball, he had given his opera to the managers and demanded that they allow it to be performed on stage with Piangi as Don Juan (temporarily) and Christine as the female lead, Aminta._  
 _Soon enough, the time had come for his opera to begin.  
Carlotta sounded a tad less shrill, the costumes fit what he had envisioned and Madame Giry's choreography was quite impeccable. Piangi sang the titular character's opening lines and as soon as the Italian was backstage, Erik took his place as the rightful Don Juan._  
 _When the time had finally come, he joined Christine on center stage and they sang their duet. They kept going and by the end, she was in his arms and it was his hands caressing her, and it was her allowing him to do so! Even from his spot on the stage, he could see that Raoul looked terrified and discontent with the situation. Erik couldn't help but feel smug and, to seal the moment, he began singing the same promises the Vicomte made to Christine on the rooftop. Erik had Christine face him and she looked up at him with such hope in her chocolate brown eyes that he forgot himself._  
 _At the height of the song, he had forgotten the hundreds of people watching him and he called her by her given name and not the character's name._  
 _The moment shattered as quickly as it had begun._  
 _Christine had torn the mask off his face and revealed his ugliness to the entire audience after such a beautiful moment. Out of panic and fear, he cut the rope that kept the grand chandelier hooked to the ceiling and took Christine back to his lair amidst the chaos. She donned on the wedding dress at his demand and when he had seen her in it, she looked as ravishing as he had imagined. But her actions, her expressions, her words_ — _she loathed him!_  
 _The Vicomte soon found his way to Erik's lair and Erik gave Christine the choice: either stay with him and free Raoul or kill the Vicomte where he stood. She became furious for a moment before she did the unexpected._  
 _Truly, Erik had never known much beauty in his life, nor did he know a thing about true love. All he knew was anger, hate, violence, tricks and music. Ever since his own mother rejected him, Erik doubted that he would ever learn what love was._  
 _Then Swedish soprano, his protégé and Angel of Music, his beloved Christine Daaé had kissed him._  
 _Erik had stood there paralyzed. He wished to run his hands all over her but was afraid of hurting her. She embraced him for a brief moment before locking lips with him again.  
Just like that, he realized that this feeling was love. He wanted to hold her and protect her from harm's way._  
 _Oh, but he had put her there, hadn't he?_  
 _All the terrible things he had done towards Christine and Raoul came back to him in a flood of remorse and regret. He could no longer hide the tears pent up in him from all the years of solitude and he let them both go together with only Christine's wedding ring to remember her by._  
 _Erik escaped right before the mob arrived and was later found by the ever helpful and loyal Madame Giry. She settled him into an abandoned home on Calais' outskirts and after only a few months living there in secret, she told him of their plan to go away to America, to which they invited him along to as well. They would depart the night of the wedding between Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daaé._

Now, as Erik sat alone in the old cottage in front of the piano littered with sheet music, he wondered if he truly wished to travel to America with the Girys. Going would give him fresh start, however, he would never see his Angel of Music again. Yet staying in France wouldn't necessarily signify that he _would_ see her again.  
Erik sighed deeply and put his face in his hands, the cold material of the mask he still wore against his fingertips. He would decide in the morning.  
Breaking himself from the reverie, he pressed down on the set of ivory keys and started playing his lullaby.  
 _ **  
Learn to be lonely,  
**_ _ **Learn to be your one companion.**_

 _ **No one would listen,  
No one but her,  
Heard as the outcast hears.**_

When it was over, he gazed outside and found himself strangely calmed by the cold, moonless sky; his only source of light coming from the small flame flickering nearby.

* * *

Christine clutched the cloak to herself in an iron tight grip as she marched up the path, or rather, what she assumed to be the path. No moon shone above her to guide her way, making the sky strangely dark for a late June night.  
The door to the seemingly abandoned cottage menaced before her and for a split second, she asked herself if she was truly doing the right thing. God knew that if she went inside it wouldn't be easy to come back out, whether by her hand or Erik's.  
She shook her head free of any doubts and knocked.  
When no answer came after several minutes, she pushed on the door handle and found the entrance unlocked. Slowly, she headed inside. With the exception of a few burning candles, the space was entirely dark and dead silent. She struggled to feel around for furniture to find her way in the pitch black room.  
Then she heard the piano.  
The notes were faint at first but grew louder as she continued creeping inward. The piece, whichever one it was, sounded strong and somehow soft at the same time. She detected a familiar feeling of sorrow within it and knew immediately that the only one that could be playing it was _him_.  
Christine eventually found another door despite the dim candlelight. Peering inside, she found steps leading downwards. She carefully began her descent, the music growing louder and louder every step she took.  
The music was loud enough to block the sound of her footsteps, so Erik didn't seem to notice a thing. Christine walked hesitantly towards him but froze when he began singing along to the piece; his voice flying gracefully and deeply between the notes.  
" _Love gives you pleasure and love brings you pain. And yet, when both are gone..._ "  
He stopped singing to write something down on the sheet music sitting in front of him.  
Taking a deep breath and wiping away her fear and anxiety, Christine sang a song of her own to alert him of her presence.  
" _Angel of Music, guide, and guardian_ — _"  
_ She jumped when his hands slammed down on the ivory keys in surprise. As soon as she recovered from the scare, she continued.  
" _Grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel!_ "  
She moved closer to his frozen form on the piano bench until she was able to set her hands on his dark-clothed shoulder.  
"Chr...Christine...?" he stuttered out, sounding genuinely afraid for one of the first times since she'd known him. Erik set his hands on hers and she felt a strange comfort at the feeling of his calloused fingers against the back of her hand.  
"Is it truly you? Or is this simply another illusion made to destroy me as I torture myself with this song?" he asked worriedly, an emotion she had only ever seen him express once before, on that final night in his lair.  
She gave a small smile. " _Non, mon Ange,_ " she softly comforted. "I am real. I am here." She leaned forward to get a closer look at the sheet music in front of Erik. _Love Never Dies_ was written across the top in his bold, elegant script. Treble clefs, rests and every kind of note adorned the page with lyrics running beneath them. She hummed the tune to herself to pick it up before vocalizing his words.  
" _Once it has spoken, love is yours. Love never dies. Love never alters. Hearts may get broken, love endures. Hearts may get broken..._ " She gasped in delight. "This is beautiful, _mon Ange_."  
He sighed in defeat. "Oh, Christine, how I have longed all these nights to hear you sing these God-forsaken words. But please, do not refer to me as your Angel. I am not an Angel nor am I yours." He sighed again, finally broken free from his wonder. "Why did you decide to come? Why visit this pathetic soul when you have the good Vicomte to keep you company on this moonless night? Pray tell, when is the happy couple to be married?"  
She hesitated. That was the Erik she remembered, for better or for worse. "Tomorrow, actually..."  
Erik gave a tasteless laugh. "So that is why you are here: to mock me and gloat about your grand wedding to that Vicomte."  
"What? No! I am here because...because I...I miss you. Ever since that final night at the opera house, I have felt this strange feeling I am only just now beginning to recognize as something else. I am here to apologize for every single wrong I have ever done you and...and for hurting you."  
He scoffed. "Thus you only seek my forgiveness in order to remain good and pure? Christine, you do not require it, but you shall have it anyway," he answered albeit coldly.  
"Thank you, but as I said, that is not my sole purpose for coming, _mon Ange,_ " she retorted. "The truth is, I have yearned to see you, _be_ with you, for months now."  
Christine moved her hands from his shoulders to his face where she felt the cool porcelain of his mask. Slowly and gently, she began slipping it off and turned his face towards hers.  
He stood up abruptly, knocking her back a few paces, and immediately went to shield his deformity from her despite the darkness already hiding it away.  
"Why, Christine?" he boomed. "Why do you wish to look upon this hideous monster?"  
Alright, she was finished with this. "You are no monster! You are a _man_ of flesh and bone and blood! You are a human! In fact, you are better than most men, and that _includes Raoul_ —"  
She stopped speaking after quickly realizing what had just come out of her mouth. A moment of silence passed between them before he spoke up again.  
"Trouble with the Vicomte?" he questioned, trying to hide his smug grin.  
Ignoring Erik's expression, Christine ran a troubled hand through her hair in exasperation. "Yes, alright? I believed that Raoul could always make me happy and bring me joy, but I see now that he cannot. He wishes to stay rooted in France while I wish to explore! I want to see the world, _mon Ange_! Besides, it is always his work that comes first, never me. Yes, he can give me a good life, but what I truly want lies with you," she confessed. "I want passion and fun and excitement! I want to feel as though I am genuinely loved and not as if I am simply a trophy for show. I want the music of the night...I want you."  
Christine hadn't noticed that her feet had begun moving of their own accord until he was right in front of her, his back to her.  
"Please, at the very least, look at me. _Please_ ," she pleaded, noticing him give a slight wince. He hesitantly turned, his gaze locked on the ground.  
Her heart was swelling with determination when she grabbed his face and kissed him.  
At that exact moment, she was filled with a sudden clarity that her mind had been reaching out to for the past several weeks. She understood everything as their lips moved back and forth, only ever parting for air before coming back together again.  
 _This_ was what she wanted.  
Raoul was good and kind to her and she truly did care for him quite deeply, but in her heart, she didn't believe that she'd ever view him as more than a sweetheart. No, _this_ was where her heart belonged: with her Angel, her Phantom, her so many other things.  
When they finally pulled away, they were panting heavily. Although she still couldn't see his face in the dark, she could just see a thin ring of sapphire blue in his dilated eyes.  
"Christine, I..." he whispered in wonder.  
"Yes, Erik?"  
At the sound of his real name, the moment shattered. He forced himself away from her and sat back on the piano bench.  
"How do you know my name?" he accused shakily.  
"It does not matter, _mon Ange_. Please do not turn away from me now...not when I have risked everything to come here," Christine replied.  
Silence.  
"Erik, _I love you_. I finally see that and I know now that I have always felt this way," she finally admitted, a weight coming off her shoulders.  
"Then why did you leave with the Vicomte that night?" he reprimanded.  
The night came back to her vividly at that moment. She recalled the rich fabric of the wedding dress, the fear running through her mind, the confusion in her heart...  
The feeling of his lips on hers, the first kiss they shared being out of pity, the second one out of love. Ever since that night, she had longed to feel his lips again. Now that she had, she was like a spoiled child who only wanted more and more and more.  
"I left with him because you gave me no choice! However, I am here now because I was, at last, presented with such a choice and I chose you. I love you, Erik. Please stop fighting me on this! I am here of my own accord, not anyone else's. Do not push me away," she begged.  
As the words had left her mouth, she had made her way to where he sat. Just as she was about to bring his face to hers once more, he stood rapidly and took her face into his hands instead, forcing her to look into his eyes.  
"Do you mean it, dear Christine?" he fretted.  
Oh, Erik. Poor Erik. He always worried so much after so many years of not knowing anything about love. After the life she heard he had, she couldn't blame him at all for feeling that way. How she wished that he had a better life. His music deserved to be heard by the entire world, not just the crypts of the Palais Garnier. It was beautiful, the music of her poor tutor.  
"I have never meant anything more in my entire life," she confirmed, using his shock against him and capturing his lips once more. She grabbed his wrists and began guiding his hands all over her body. They swept past her thighs, smoothed down her back and lingered on her waist. When she was sure of their position, she slipped her cloak off.  
This was the one thing in which she was more experienced than he was and even then, it wasn't by much. With Raoul, all they had ever shared had been chaste kisses and a few stronger interactions in private. Whenever she had attempted to initiate something a _bit_ more interesting, he had always pushed her away. But Erik...  
Erik reciprocated all of her feelings. Christine was able to express the passion and fire she had been yearning to show for weeks.  
Taking charge, she opened her mouth and slid her tongue against his lips as if requesting entry. He instinctively opened his mouth and joined their tongues together in an intoxicating dance. His hands began moving on their own without her guidance and she walked backward until she hit the wall; their lips still clashing together. _  
This is wrong_ , she told herself. She was engaged to Raoul. She loved Raoul.  
 _If you truly loved Raoul, then why are you here? Erik didn't start this_ — _you did.  
_ How could something so wrong feel so right?  
She guided Erik's lips down to her neck, relishing in the feeling of his hot breath on her collarbone. She couldn't hold back from releasing a moan.  
He tensed up at the sound that had escaped her body, staring at her with worry.  
"Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly.  
"Not at all, _mon Ange,_ " she chastised. "The exact opposite, actually."  
Unable to hold herself back much longer, Christine turned around, leaving her head pressed up against the wall and her back towards Erik. She took his hands and brought them to the dark blue ties of her dress.  
"Go ahead," she exhaled.  
His hands froze in her grasp. "Christine I—we can't possibly—"  
"Erik," she said sternly. "I want this...I want you. Please."  
"But what about the Vicomte?" he asked shakily before Christine shushed him.  
"Shh...do not fret about him. This moment is about us, and solely us. Erik, please..."

When Erik finally gave into temptation, he did so without a single drop of hesitation. His fingers expertly untied the ribbon and released the dress from the other ties and buttons that held it closed. The gown pooled at Christine's feet and she was left in her chemise and corset; the latter of which Erik quickly untied and peeled off of her.  
She had never been this undressed in front of a man in her entire life. Despite that, truth be told, she was glad that the only man to see her like this was Erik. She had already given him her voice and her soul and he was content with them both.  
However, she wasn't. Tonight, she would give him both her body and her heart as well.  
She turned back to face him as he simply stared at her in awe, although the darkness prevented either of them from seeing very much. Not wanting to be the only one nearly undressed, Christine reached for his jacket and slid it off him, adding it to the pile already containing her dress, cloak, and corset.  
She whispered his name and that was enough for him to continue their actions from before.  
He lifted her up to bring her closer to his own height (as he was much taller than her) and smashed their mouths together once more. He carried her to the edge of the bed before laying her gently. With her hair splayed out, her chest breathing heavily and her face most definitely completely red, she probably looked like a mess. Yet even in the dark, she could see a gleam of wonder in Erik's eyes.  
The rest of the night wasn't as graceful as one imagined it to be. Christine still very often had to guide Erik's hands to where they had to be, though she herself was a tad clueless as to what she even had to do. He still shied away from her when every other piece of clothing was discarded, but she assured him that his appearance didn't matter one _bit_ to her at all.  
Despite the fumbling beforehand, when the final moment _did_ come, they were both prepared as the flame of passion finally took them in, enveloping them in its rich warmth. Nothing mattered then except for him and her as they both cried out each other's names into the moonless night.  
When it was all over, she pressed a warm kiss to the marred side of Erik's face.  
"I love you," she confessed quietly. "I love every part of you. I always will. Please...let me stay here with you."  
Erik gave a sharp intake of breath and clutched her to him. "How could you possibly mean such things?"  
She laughed lightly. "You are my everything, Erik. You may not see it, but I do. I love you."

Erik sat in the wave of silence thinking to himself.  
She _loved_ him. She _said_ it. She touched his face and body this evening without turning away. She...she...  
She cared for him. She loved him. Christine Daaé, his Swedish Soprano, his Angel of Music, his life, his muse, his infinite number of things was the first person in his entire life to show him love and what it was like to be cared for by another.  
He loved her, and if that was a great sin, then may his soul be damned to hell forever because Erik loved Christine more than anything he had ever known.  
It was only when her breathing grew deeper and he was sure that she had fallen asleep that he finally said something.  
"Thank you, love. I owe you _everything_ that I am and ever will be and more. Christine, I love you," he whispered.  
She stirred slightly in her sleep and snuggled closer to him as he began singing quietly.  
 _ **  
Then at last a voice in the gloom  
** **Seemed to cry, "I hear you,**_  
 _ **Your inner fears,**_  
 _ **Your torment and your tears!"**_

 _ **She saw my loneliness,**_  
 _ **Shared in my emptiness,**_  
 _ **No one would listen,**_  
 _ **No one but her,**_  
 _ **Heard as the outcast hears.**_

* * *

The ugly chirping of the morning lark awoke him just as the sun began replacing the moonless sky of the previous night.  
Erik went to lie on his side and froze when he found Christine sleeping soundly beside him; the light blanket the only thing shielding her body from the morning air.  
So last night hadn't been a dream then...  
She looked incredibly peaceful as she slept. She was absolutely beautiful, but then again, she always was.  
He smiled at her before realizing that this beautiful creation that was surely fashioned by the heavens had partaken in such...personal actions with a _monster_ like him only a few hours prior.  
Oh God, what had he _done?  
_ He had disgraced this pure being with his ugliness, had tainted its perfection with his own unholiness. He didn't deserve her at all, yet it had been _his_ lips pressing kisses to her graceful form.  
 _"I love every part of you. I always will."  
_ Yes, that was what she had said.  
He scoffed. She could never mean those things about him. She was simply caught up in the moment, that was all. She didn't love him. She didn't wish to spend her life with him. Why would she when she had the perfect Vicomte? As soon as Christine woke and saw him in the day's light, she would surely be repulsed by the thing she had given herself over to.  
Erik abruptly shot out of the bed. He collected his clothing and put it back on before carefully taking Christine's belongings and setting them all on a chair. He journeyed outside, picked a rose and set it on top of her clothing along with a quickly scrawled note.  
Before departing, Erik took a final glance at the angel sleeping in the bed. He loved her...dear _God_ he loved her.  
But no matter what he did, he would never deserve her. That was simply the fate of a beast.  
Sighing in defeat, he grabbed his few belongings and departed, making sure to slip on his cold mask once more as the sparks from last night faded away.

* * *

It took Christine only a moment to recall where she was. Smiling, she clutched the pillow underneath her head closer to her as the birds chirped outside.  
At last, Christine finally knew what she wanted for herself. She would stay here instead of going off to marry another man she didn't love. Raoul would be fine; he would find another woman happy to be his bride. Christine would run away with her Angel of Music and live a spontaneous life of adventure and music. They would explore all of Europe! They would dance in London, drink fine champagne in Paris and explore her hometown in Sweden. She would be happy.  
Finally opening her eyes, she turned to face her beloved Erik.  
Her heart stilled at the empty spot beside her where Erik should have been. No need to worry...he was most likely preparing a breakfast or working on his music.  
But then why couldn't she hear a single sound aside from the birds?  
Gathering the blanket around her as a makeshift cloak, Christine stepped out of bed and looked around the room. All of Erik's belongings had disappeared: his clothing, his sheet music—  
His mask. It, too, was gone.  
The only personal belongings left were not his, but her own sitting on a chair near the door. On top of her clothing were a rose and small square of paper. She anxiously picked up both items and was immediately filled with dread when she read the single word on the note in Erik's signature elegant script.  
 _Goodbye.  
_ "Erik?" she shouted as loudly as she could. "Erik! This...this isn't funny! Erik!"  
No response came. She reread the word over and over and studied the paper in the vain hope that there was something else written.  
There wasn't.  
She sank down to her knees in defeat as her despair threatened to swallow her whole. Heavy bouts of tears emerged in her eyes and down her cheeks. It was as if a hole had opened in her lungs and she could hardly breathe because of it. She crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it across the room with a scream of agony; the fury consuming her in a ball of fire as she poured her heart out in her sobs.  
The rose stared up at her and she clutched onto the flower so harshly that the petals fell apart in her hand. She tossed the flower aside and covered her face with her hands.  
He was gone. Despite _everything_ that had happened between them last night, despite all of her promises and proclamations, he had _left her without so much as a proper goodbye.  
_ Damn him for abandoning her! Damn herself for thinking it would be that easy! Damn the world for taking away her true happiness when it was just moments away from her grasp! Damn everything and everyone!  
When she had finally somewhat regained her composure, she stood up and dressed. Not even bothering to search for any other sign of him left in the cottage, she set out into the warm morning of Calais.  
She had a wedding to attend after all.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


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